


Do Not Go Gentle (Into That Good Night)

by wowza_sizzle



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Buckle in for a ride, I am not a professional fbi agent so this might be wild, Interrogation, Kaz and Ocelot are FBI agents, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The FBI AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowza_sizzle/pseuds/wowza_sizzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2016, and Big Boss was presumed dead five years ago. When the CIA gets wind of a mafia organization that reminds them too much of Big Boss, they assign Special Agents Miller and Ocelot to the case. Their orders are to stop this new group by any means necessary. What seems like an easy case turns out to be something much, much bigger than the CIA had ever dreamed of. </p><p>(Also known as the FBI AU no one asked for...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Go Gentle (Into That Good Night)

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic spawned from this wonderful drawing done by tumblr user [wwsans](http://wwsans.tumblr.com/) and you can look at the drawing [here](http://wwsans.tumblr.com/post/134322602391/suits-cont-speedpaint)!!
> 
> Beta read by [Kawaiibooker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker)! Thank you so much, you've saved my ass too many times to count already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by [The Last Shadow Puppets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9cQloro92xA)!

**[April 13, 2016. A warehouse somewhere in Peru.]**

The first thing the soldier sees when he wakes up are red leather gloves on hands that are moving around his face like butterflies. He pulls on the handcuffs cutting into his skin. The next thing are two sharp, black suits, and in them, two gruesomely handsome men with a dangerous glint in their eyes.  
  
The man with the red gloves has his silver hair tied back with an elastic. His face is awfully close, anger vibrating through his blood in a way that can be felt in the air. The other man stands further back, blond hair glinting in the harsh LED lights, face pulled into a tight frown.  
  
"Give it a minute, Ocelot. Truth serum isn't instant." So that's what the red-gloved hands had been doing near the soldier's face. He pulls on his restraints again and croaks out a laugh.  
  
"I don't know anything! You're wasting your time with me," The soldier bows his head, "Even if I did know something, I wouldn't tell you two. Fucking FBI agents..." The blond steps forward.

“Are you sure this is how you want to play? We can play dirty too, you know.” He kicks the chair, causing the soldier to tumble to the floor and hit his head in the process. Sticking his hands in his pockets, the blond bends down, level to the man lying on the floor. “Do you know who I am?” It sounds more like a growl than actual speech.

Whimpering in pain, the soldier slowly nods his head.

“You’re Master Miller.” There’s not even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

The blond barks out a laugh. “Have at it, Ocelot.”

The red gloves swarm the soldier’s face again, this time along with a very sharp knife.

“Big Boss disappeared five years ago without a trace and was presumed dead, as was his little mafia gig. Now, for some reason, we’re picking up traces of what looks like his gang all over the Andes Mountains. That doesn’t make all too much sense, does it?” The soldier nods an affirmative again as quickly as he can, or at least he tries to. There’s too much blood rushing into his head to think properly. Or is that the truth serum?

The man called Ocelot continues to speak.

“We have a handful of small theories. Maybe you’re a group of wannabes who stole their name. Or, you and your friends were seeds planted years ago, just waiting for the ‘all-clear’.” The soldier feels something cold and sharp on his jugular. “The one we like best goes a little like this: Big Boss isn’t really dead.” Ocelot presses the knife a smidge harder into the man’s neck. Blood begins to pool in a crease of skin.

“That hurts!” The soldier tries to pull back, only resulting in the knife cutting deeper. Ocelot grins, shooting a look at Miller, who is leaning against the grimy wall again.

“Well? Is Big Boss alive?” Miller asks. The knife draws more blood. He know he’ll be dead in five minutes, tops.

He grunts, feeling extremely dizzy; his thoughts are a haze due to the truth serum, his position on the floor and the knife slicing into his skin. He pulls weakly at his restraints, refusing to speak.

Ocelot pouts. “It’s now or never, buddy. You can tell us what we want and die a short, blissful death, or this can go on for a lot longer.” This guy sounds like he’s getting off on the whole ordeal. The soldier hears the distant jangle of spurs. He’s coughing up blood now. The other man pushes off the wall and crowds his space.

“Choose your dying words wisely, my friend.” Master Miller looks down at him, cynical as always. The soldier is glad to see that Miller still has those silly sunglasses. He smiles deliriously, feeling warm blood tickle his skin. A dying breath is inhaled.

“V has come to.”

Everything goes black.

 

**[January 24, 2016. FBI HQ]**

"Special Agent Ocelot, meet Special Agent Miller. You two will be partners from now on, working together on a new top secret case."  
  
Ocelot smiles like the cat he is, reaching out to shake Miller's hand. "It's very nice to meet you," he drawls. The woman who introduced the two men nods, wishes them good luck, and leaves the two agents to their own devices.

If his new partner was confused by his older codename, he didn’t show it. Ocelot had joined the FBI when they had still been using animal code names, a dead practice now. The only person who knows his real name is his boss, and Ocelot wants to keep it that way.

"You're not a real cowboy, are you?" Miller asks when the woman is out of earshot. Ocelot's smile falters at that.  
  
"And you wear sunglasses inside?" He retorts, making a small gesture at Miller's face.  
  
"Point taken.” Miller takes a sip from his coffee mug. He looks a little unsure of himself, as if he doesn’t know what to say next. “You work in the International Operations division, right? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you around the office before.”

Ocelot shakes his head. “What are we? Shy 15 year olds on their first date?” He starts walking down the hallway, leaving Miller to catch up. “Let’s cut the small talk. We have a lot of work to do.”

When they get to their new shared office, Ocelot hesitates for a half second. Big Boss and his gang are no walk in the park. They’re a dirty group, up to their arms in mafia feuds and black market deals. This top secret case Ocelot volunteered for will not be easy at all, he realizes. Especially if he has to work with some hot-shot young agent like Miller.

This will probably be a good test of patience, he thinks.

 

 **[March 18th, 2016. FBI HQ]**  

The agents end up deciding Fridays will be their intel days. Miller slinks into their shared office with his coffee (Ocelot picks up quickly that he only drinks Columbian roast) at 9:00 AM sharp, his suit freshly pressed and holding a stack of new reports. Ocelot hung up a big map during the first week of the case, on the plain tan wall opposite the large office windows that looked out over Washington DC. Every time they catch wind of something that even remotely looks like it has some connection to Big Boss, Miller sticks a pin in the general area on the map. Over the past two months the pins have been steadily growing in number, and they’re up to about 25 little pinpricks.

This morning is no different. Miller has his coffee and his intel files fresh off the printer, just like always. But something is off; Ocelot can see it in the slight slump of Miller’s shoulders. He quietly notes that Miller’s suit is not as neat as it typically is. The agent drops the paperwork on his desk, drinking deeply from his coffee.

“Rough night?” Ocelot isn’t sure how far he can pry yet. Their partnership is still too fresh for him to accurately judge how Miller feels. This is a game he plays with himself every time he’s assigned to a new partner: Push them until they break, see how far they’ll let him go.

Miller mumbles something unintelligible, reaching for the pins on his desk. He sticks two new ones into the upper Andes mountains, and turns to face Ocelot. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he had stayed up the entire night crying. It’s plainly obvious, even through the aviators.

Ocelot leans forward, his arms propping his head up. Now this is different. Miller is not a man he would have pinned as a crier, but the proof is all but served on a silver platter for him. “Care to repeat that?”

“My mother died. Last night.” His blond hair slips out from behind his right ear as he bends his head forward to look at his shoes. “I got a call from the hospital she was staying at. She passed away quietly, thankfully.” Ocelot notices that Miller doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it anymore.

Time to get to work. How far will Miller let him go?

“I see.” Ocelot starts, keeping his eyes trained on Miller’s head. “Were you two close?”

“Mmm. She was sick for a long time. Nothing I could really do about it either.”

“You didn’t answer the question, Miller,”

“Does it matter?” Miller shoots back. “We have more important things to discuss, Ocelot.” He doesn’t meet Ocelot’s eyes and lets out a short breath, clearly frustrated with the situation.

Ocelot grins. His game isn’t over yet.

***

This is not how Miller had planned on going about his morning. Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The phone call had woken him up in the middle of the night to deliver the news. He does feel awful, but he wasn’t going to admit that to his asshole of a work partner.

Miller is pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp cough. He looks at Ocelot with an annoyed expression, only to find him still facing the map. “What now?”

“It’s intel day.”

“Yes it is. I noticed.”

“Then let’s get to it, shall we? Lingering in the past has never helped catch any criminals, I’m sorry to say.” Ocelot finally turns to face him, a slight smirk ghosting his lips. He reaches for the stack of reports on Miller’s desk, taking them into his lap and quietly begins flipping through them. Miller just sighs heavily and rolls back to his desk in defeat.

Paging through the intel proves harder than Miller was hoping for. There’s no real substantial information for him to really dig his claws into and build a solid case. Miller’s never worked a case with this little information before, and he feels like it’s killing him. Who would’ve thought Big Boss and his gang could be so elusive? Five years ago they were on the front page of every newspaper and web article. Nothing they did was secretive. Well, Miller thinks bitterly, a lot can change in five years.

“Look here, Miller.” Ocelot shows him something off a transcript of a phone call. “This right here. ‘ _V se_ _desperto_ ’. That has to be some sort of code.”

“V has come to? What sort of bullshit is that?” He doesn’t want to admit that those few words could mean something important. “When is this call dated?”

“A year ago,” Ocelot flips the page over. “May 17th.”

“There’s no way that can mean anything. A year is a long time.” Miller glances at the rest of the Spanish text. “Nothing else in that call is important! They’re just talking about someone’s mother.”

“Don’t be so hasty, kid. Everything means something in this line of work.” Ocelot shakes his head. He puts down the transcript and looks out the big window. “I know you’re just a rookie, but you can’t be making mistakes like that because you’re green.”

“You can’t just say things like that, _partner_ ,” Miller stands, looming over the other man. “You don’t even know the first thing about my life.”

“Yes I do. Your mother died last night,” Ocelot says in a demeaning, nonchalant tone while he continues to read the transcripts. “I know that you’re a young, hot blooded agent with a taste for revenge and blood on your hands while you cave in the face of another man with your bare fists. You just _crave_ the feeling of bone and cartilage crushing under you as you beat him to the ground. I know men like you, Miller. Their lives don’t end well. Never do.”

“You _asshole!_ You can’t just say things like that!” Miller is shouting now. “I’ve seen war and poverty and everything in between. I’ve been forced to sleep next to dead men lying in their own blood and piss and I didn’t enjoy that! You’re such a _sick fuck_! Why would anyone just assume disgusting things like that?” His face is bright red, and Ocelot still doesn’t look at him.

He inhales sharply, and continues in a quieter voice. “I don’t want to kill anyone. My mother named me Kazuhira for a reason. She always wanted me to find peace, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Find peace for myself and the people around me.”

The fight in his voice has gone out by the time he finishes speaking.

***

Ocelot knew he was going to win his little game once Miller had started shouting. With his limit discovered, Ocelot can now manipulate Miller into doing whatever he wants. He understands Miller’s point; peace is an attractive concept, and he seems to be drawn to it like a moth to a light. So, he upsets Miller’s inner balance of peace and the man will do anything to fix it.

“Working in this field isn’t all that peaceful,” Ocelot stands, meeting Miller’s eyes. There’s a moment of stillness in the office room, the calm after the storm. He reaches out for a handshake, and Miller accepts. An unspoken truce. “So. That phone call transcript...”  

The blond nods. “Yeah, that’s where we were.

 

**[March 23rd, 2016. FBI HQ]**

Miller’s actually in a good mood this morning, whistling cheerfully as he walks into his office. He had gone out with a handful of colleges last night, all of them getting pleasantly drunk together. The night ended with Miller falling asleep with a smile gracing his sharp features. 

Sitting at his desk, he pulls out his laptop and begins reading emails. Ocelot walks in a few minutes later, nodding to the blond in greeting. They sit in peace for a while.

A cell phone rings, and Miller watches his partner take out his phone. Ocelot looks at the caller ID, puzzled; he shows the screen to the other man. “Do you recognize this number?” The blond shakes his head. Ocelot’s lips pull into a frown, answering the call. “How did you get this number?” He speaks into phone, then quickly puts speakerphone on.

The sound of static fills the room. The person on the line doesn’t say anything, and Ocelot looks at Miller with an unsettled expression. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Silence.

The line goes dead with a click, and Miller peeks at the phone screen to look at the call time. 60 seconds exactly. Weird, he thinks. It takes exactly 60 seconds to trace a call. Pulling out his laptop, a quick Google search helps identify the area code.

“The 702 area code is for Las Vegas and surrounding towns. I think it’s just a cell number, so the caller could still be anywhere in the world.” Miller rolls his chair to Ocelot’s desk, pulling his laptop with him. “They called for exactly 60 seconds… Maybe they wanted us to trace the call.” He slides the laptop onto the desk, after pushing away several books.

“Are you suggesting we return the call?”

“Yeah. I can run the tracing program while you just sit there and look pretty,” Miller says in a sarcastic voice. He types something on the keyboard, and looks up at Ocelot expectantly. “Well?”

His partner hums, and Miller can practically see the gears turning in Ocelot’s head. “Yes,” he says after a minute or two. “Are you ready?”

“As ever.”

Ocelot grabs a cable from his laptop and plugs it into Miller’s laptop, connecting his cell at the same time. The phone dials and nothing happens for a few seconds. Miller’s fingers hover over his keyboard, waiting for the call to connect.

There’s a click, and the timer starts. The tracking system makes the computer’s fan spin to life, and Miller’s quietly counting under his breath. His eyes move from the screen to the phone, and then back again. The person on the other side says nothing.

Once 60 seconds pass, the line goes dead. Miller looks back at his computer, and smiles in triumph. The tracking system worked.

“Well, we’ve got a location now.” He sounds very smug, smirking at Ocelot. They’ve finally discovered something worth checking out, after two months of hard work.

“And?”

“Start looking for plane tickets, partner. We’ve got a lead in Peru.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first really big fic and I'm really excited for the rest. Hopefully I'll get the next few chapters up soon :) 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://artmaniaa.tumblr.com/)! I'll probably be posting some stuff about this fic at some point, we'll see.


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